


Fall Out

by 9r7g5h



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fiction, General fiction, Literature, Short Stories, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9r7g5h/pseuds/9r7g5h
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never had to learn to move on before now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Out

**Author's Note:**

> AN1: Post 4 of the crap! ^v^ This one had a pre-written AN, so I’m going to go ahead and leave it in. Sorry, and enjoy!
> 
> AN2: Have you ever heard the song “Fallout” by Marianas Trench? It’s a great song, probably one of my favorites from them, and if you haven’t heard it, you should. Especially before reading this fic, because it’s basically what this fic is based off of. And, just to warn you, this fic is a follow up/prequel to ‘Him.’ So, if you didn’t like the first one, you probably won’t like this. Still, if you read it, I hope that you enjoy it. Also, a HUGE ‘Thank you’ to my friend Magicalawesometastic (yes, that’s her username. Don’t judge my ginger) for helping me through the feels and looking this over for me before I posted it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Wreck It Ralph. Disney does.

He’d never left the house. 

Even after it was all over, the papers signed and her stuff moved-first back into her game, then into the penthouse of his shortly after-he couldn’t bring himself to leave. As painful as it was to stay, to realize each time he stood on a stool to reach the top cabinet that would have been at the perfect height for her that she wasn’t coming back, it hurt more to consider leaving. Every time he tried to pack up his things and leave, to go take up Ralph’s offer of an empty couch until more comfortable accommodations could be arranged, he found he couldn’t. His hands would tremble, his heart would ache, and it would only take a single glance at the empty side of what had been their bedroom to convince him to stay. 

So he began to lie to those who asked. 

He had built the house, so why should he leave? It didn’t matter he was too short to reach anything, that the house hadn’t felt like home for the last two years; it was his, so he was going to stay. What he never said was that, so long as he stayed, it seemed like there was still a chance. A chance that, one day, she would walk in with her bag thrown over her shoulder, the pieces of her armor clanking against each other as she threw them onto a corner before pulling him in for a kiss. That he would wake up to find it had been nothing more than a nightmare and she would still be beside him, her stare tired and concerned as she asked what woke him. Part of him whispered he was just too stubborn to leave, but the rest of him couldn’t help but hope.

Whenever he saw that _look_ on Gene’s face, one that spoke of a night spent in her arms, Felix had to accept he was a fool. Tamora had asked him for a divorce for a reason, and the mustached mayor of Niceland was it.

He smiled. Every time he met Gene’s gaze, Felix made sure to paste the largest grin he could onto his lips, nodding and chatting with his old friend as if nothing had happened. How could he not, when Gene had gone through the trouble of asking his permission before he proposed, when he had had the patience and understanding to wait until the divorce had been finalized before finally asking her out on a date? It wasn’t the Nicelander’s fault his heart had been broken, nor was it something Gene could have controlled when he fell for her as well.

So Felix forced himself to smile and ignore the almost proud, boasting gleam in Gene’s gaze that had appeared the first time Tamora spent the night with him in the penthouse and that had yet to fade. He played his parts well: the good, supportive friend; the hero of his game; the man who could fix anything, even his own broken heart.   

It was only around _her_ that his masks fell, mainly because, around her, he didn’t know what to do. 

A small part of him was mad. For seven years he had been in love with her, had done everything he could to make that known, and yet it still hadn’t been enough to keep her. In the end she had left him for Gene, and all he could do was wonder why. The rest of him just hurt, the sight of her enough to cause his chest to throb as the little pieces tried to pull themselves together into some semblance of a working heart, even if it was just to pain him again when she left and it fell apart.

He had always been polite, but, at first, he tried not to care. Whenever he saw Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun, he had just tipped his hat and smiled, biting back the words that had formed on the tip of his tongue. She had done the same, nodding in his general direction before continuing on with her day.

But even though he told himself that was enough, that just seeing her happy and healthy would keep him content, it wasn’t. 

So he spoke. All he ever said was ‘How do you do?’ Four little words that meant almost nothing, but every time he saw her, he asked. Sometimes she just shrugged and left it at that, her mood foul enough that he was quick to move along before her tempter turned on him. But most evenings she replied, a syllable or two that answered his question before turning it on him, requesting the same information with a soft voice that almost convinced him she cared. He would smile and lie, saying the words he knew she wanted to hear before leaving her for Tapper’s, the game he had spent most of his nights in for the last two years. 

For the longest while he had managed to convince himself that that was all he needed, a few stolen moments of her day to speak with her, to hear her voice and pretend, just for a moment, she was still his. He thought it would be enough, living on those half dozen words, that he could survive long enough to figure a way out. That, one day, he’d be able to pull himself together and put a stop to the pain in his chest. Just, until that day came, he needed those words to keep himself together, and would hold back the others that formed on the tip of his tongue whenever he saw her. 

That day didn’t come soon enough, and even he couldn’t hold back those words forever.  

“Tammy,” Felix said softly as she turned to leave him once again, almost too softly for her to hear. It surprised him, then, when she paused in her retreat, head half turned to look at him over her shoulder, face unreadable as her bangs fell in front of her eyes. For a moment he almost smiled and gave her another generic send off, a polite ‘good bye’ to put another end to their conversation. His tongue moved before his brain could tell it to, though, and so he asked. 

“What do I _do_?”

He didn’t need to explain. The desperation in his voice was more than enough for her to understand the four words. Even now, he was still hurting, still in pain, and had no idea where to go from here. Even though she was the one causing the throbbing in his heart, she was also the only one who could help, and maybe give him some advice to fix the little pieces. 

She couldn’t. 

“What the rest of us do when we’ve been hurt, short stack,” she said softly, the nickname sending a pang through his chest. “Try to move on before we get stuck hurting.”

“How,” he breathed, hoping that she would be able to tell him the secret that had allowed her to follow her own advice. His hope was for nothing, though, when she shook her head a moment later, shrugging her shoulders as she looked away. “I…I see,” he said thickly, swallowing hard as he worked to avoid her gaze as well. “T-thank you anyway, Ma’am, for your time. I ho-“

“I’m pregnant,” Tamora cut him off, freezing him as he tried to turn away. “Don’t know why I’m telling you, Fix-It,” she continued, still refusing to look him in the eye, “but Gene and I are expecting.”

“I thought you didn’t want children,” Felix replied softly, watching as her hands folded protectively over her stomach.

“I didn’t, but now…” She left the words hanging between them, the silence growing as neither could find anything to fill it. Finally bowing his head, Felix chocked out a few words of congratulations before continuing on, leaving her behind him as he raced to meet up with the bottle of root beer Tapper always had waiting. “Try to move on, Felix,” she called after him, her tone unusually gentle. Gentle and hurt, as if she still cared for the eight-bit man she had left behind when she had moved on, as if the distress she had caused was truly of her concern. “Try to move on,” she repeated, “if not for you, then…” 

She might have said something else, but if she had, Felix didn’t hear it. He was already too far gone to listen any longer. 

\-------------------

On the same day that Gene came to say it was a boy, Felix finally forced himself to leave house he had built for her, the door wide open for any who wished to stay as he finally took up Ralph’s offer of a couch.  

Those that did found a single gold ring waiting on the table, still unable to move on like its owner finally had.  


End file.
